I Know
by The Unofficial Companion
Summary: Friendship is something that must not be mistaken for love, as John found out.


I Know

By: TheOneYouCameBackFor

Summary: Love is something that must not be mistaken for friendship, as John found out.

John walked out of flat 221 B Baker Street and shivered in the cold air. It was early December, and the weather was just starting to chill and the nights just starting to get longer. He saw all the lights, all the people, all the taxis. He saw the sandwich shop, he saw the boy calling for his mother. he saw the street, the coats, yet the one person that he had wanted to see was not returning home from St. Barts.

He started walking, but to where he did not know. His breath came out in short ragged breaths when he thought about what Sally had just said on the phone.

"John, don't try to hide it, okay? We all know you're in love with Sherlock, just get over yourself and tell the freak"

Tell Sherlock? He had given John no signs, no tale tell giveaways. But boy, had John. Only ever happy when he walked in the room, the way he lingers his hands for a few seconds on his phone before he calls Sherlock, the way he brightens up when he says 'all you imbeciles', but did not include him anymore in that list, unless he is having a blank feelings out day. Which is most days.

But Sherlock hadn't gave him any hints. No clues. It was almost as if Sherlock was trying to toy with John, and he already knew that John loved him. Because that would be how Sherlock would play it, wouldn't it? He'd play a little game, like you would to a cat, where you bounce the ball just out of that cats reach, and it just leaps and leaps and leaps at it. Until it tires of course.

And that is the worst part of this isn't it? Because Sherlock has given him nothing. Nothing at all. That sunk his heart. So what did John decide to do? He decided to tell him once and for all. Because this little game has to end. Sherlock is Sherlock, and he notices everything. But one must not let down a mind, so he thought nothing of the little voice _singing_ in his head; _Sherlock doesn't love you. Sherlock doesn't love you. _

The voice in his head even had resorted to singing.

Helooked up, and sighed. He couldn't believe how late it was. Nearly 11:11, and that is the time to make a wish, is it not?

He sent a quick text to Sherlock.

_To: Sherlock_

_From: John  
_

_Subject: Meeting  
_

_Message: I must meet you at 221 B Baker Street. - John. W  
_  
His phone beeped with the tone that he had assigned Sherlock.

_To: John _

_From: Sherlock  
_

_Subject: RE: Meeting  
_

_Message: Is there a case? John, I have to tell you something. It's about the dead baker. It was murder. Meet you there in 5, I'm just leaving.  
_

He felt no need to respond, but he quickly hailed a taxi and told the man where to drop him. Then he stared at the view outside, trying not to vomit with the pure sense of dread that comes with confessing love. First, he tried to back out, but he was a army doctor; and they do not back down. Thinking of that; he proceeded to look out the window, where it had started to rain. He watched the raindrops cascade down the window pain and smiled, knowing that he did this a lot when he was a kid. Even now he likes to think of the sweet memories of his childhood. It reminds him of Sherlock, because he hasn't matured.

The taxi pulled up at 221B Baker Street and let him outside. He stood there, waiting in the rain, watching people come and swirl around him. He was getting dizzy, his heart rate was accelerating. He could hear it pounding in his head, but he still continued staggering. He let out ragged breaths, and people stopped to stare. He gave a wild eyed stare and mouthed to them: _get help. _But nobody was helping, watching on in terror, as if they refused to move. He started choking, as his blood rose to his throat. He knew what was happening, but he could not seem to get into his head that he should get his phone out and call the ambulance. He screeched, and fell to his knees in agony, clutching his heart. He couldn't move, and with pain shooting all around his body, he managed to scream. Just before his knees gave out and his world went black, a set of arms caught him and said "You'll be alright."

It was Sherlock's.

_**2 weeks later, in the hospital, following Sherlock:**_

"Molly, how are you?" Sherlock said, holding her hands in her own,desperately wishing her right hand was actually Sherlock.

"Good, Sherlock." She said, with her heart beating wildly like a drum. Her heart always betrayed her, even if they had been colleagues for 5 years.

"What are you doing this Saturday?" I ventured, a worried smile on my face.

"Visiting John. He's still in a coma." His voice broke just a little, but he hid it well. Never would Molly see him cry.

"We could go out for Chinese?" She said, with a smile on her face, but it was a nervous one.

"Yes. I know a good Chinese restaraunt. I get free food there because after their sons' girlfriend got arrested, I helped them."

"Did you save her?"

"Oh no. I made sure she got a longer sentence." He smiled mischievously, as if that was all that he would tell her.

_**On Saturday, at the Chinese restaurant.**_

"Wow, so that's how you and John escaped Jim? With Irene's phone call?"

"Yes, Molly, that's how it happened."

Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper were sitting at a Chinese restraraunt, Sherlock having a good time boasting and Molly having a good time just being with Sherlock. The beautiful Chinese drums playing in the background, the amazing violin player. Not as amazing as Sherlock. But still pretty good. All the people laughing, who were usually with someone. A phone rang in the distance, but it was inaudible. Nobody knew of its' importance.

"So, how his Mrs Hudson?"

"She's coping well, considering. But neither of us have entered the flat since."

"Why not?" Her curiosity finally got the better of her. "You have to sleep sometime. In a bed, not it that hospital lounge like I know you have. I have friends in the hospital."

"So you've been watching me?" He smirked, and it made her heart decide to join the olympic gymnastics team.

"Yes." She said, then realised the meaning of her words. "No. Okay, just a little, like just while Johns' in hospital."

The ring tone was heard again. Sherlock looked in his pocket. He mouthed 'sorry', and picked it up. he brightened up considerably while he was listening. He looked like a child on Christmas morning.

"Do hold on the spies, Molly Hooper."

"Why?"

"Because John's out of the coma."

And he turned, smiled mischievously and said, "Nice shoes."

**_At the Hospital, precisely 48 hours after the phone call. _**

"John! John! I'm here John!" Sherlock screamed down the halls of the hospital, even though the air felt of sickness and death. To Sherlock, the air smelt of John. All of these weeks, he had worn John's sweaters, drunk from his mug and yes, even used John's shampoo and soap. But none of that had made him happy. Only this phone call had.

"John! Wake up! John!" He finally got to the wing where John had been charged. He smiled, finally, when he got to his room. 211. John was writing something in his hand; and he smiled. Medical comas make people hallucinate. John saw him and quickly moved out the way, so his handwriting was not to be read.

"I'm awake." The faint voice said.

"Good, finally. I've missed you." He said.

He had gotten some advice from Lestrade before he went in. About a day ago, he called Sherlock.

*Flashback*

_"Yes Lestrade, I am meeting John tomorrow. What of it, half-wit?"  
_

_"You see, I've seen this sort of thing before. Medically induced coma patients do not want to be reminded of their ordeal, or it could trigger relapse. For god's sake Sherlock, do not let him bring it up.  
_

_"Fine. Any other news to tell John?" _

_"Mycroft and I are going out." He said in a calm, rehearsed voice.  
_

*End Flashback*

"Mycroft has a boyfriend, you know. Lestrade." Sherlock said, smiling like a 5 year old.

"Not surprised. I've seen Lestrades' face when you mention your brother." It was as if he was whispering, because he knew he was a dead man walking. He'd seen the IV drips, the morphine, the hushed vices when visitors walk past. He knew. He used to do the same actions when he was an army doctor.

"Hello, gentlemen. I am John's doctor, and I have some grave news." Dr. Senza looked down, as if he was praying. He had a shourt, stout posture, said military. Do most army doctors become doctors in the United Kingdom now? He had a tan line from a rash shirt - fairly new. That said rich. No wedding ring, but tan line from ring - cheating. Hair has been groomed poorly - wife moved out.

"What is it? What's wrong?" He didn't even try to guess. He didn't want to know. He wanted it told, to be normal. He didn't want his brain to bring up the figures of survival rates from diseases. He wanted nothing of it. He just wanted John.

"He has to have life saving surgery on his lungs. There was so much fluid in his lungs that he had a heart attack. If the fluid isn't drained, he will die. His heart will fail."

"But he has had no signs. None at all!" He shouted, startling John.

"See his ankles. The effects of Oedema have begun. He had to get a taxi from his walk because he was out of breath. He covers up his arms because his skin feels spongy." Dr. Senza said. "You may be a consulting detective, but you are grief stricken or preoccupied. You did not see."

"Sherlock, Sherlock. Listen to me. I told him that stuff. He is lying." John whispered, "Now, give me the forms. I consent."

"Here." Dr. Senza gave him the forms while Sherlock sank into a chair. Why was his heart leading his brain through this. This is not Sherlock.

John filled out the forms, sometimes putting his hand to his lips to think of some information. Sherlock left, he couldn't handle seeing his best friend do this to himself. It was torture, it was poison, it was death. It was ruined.

"He's finished filling out the forms. The earliest time we can get him in is 6 pm." Dr. Senza regarded his notes carefully.

"Can I see him?" Sherlock asks.

"Yes, but I am afraid he is asleep." Dr. Senza walks off curtly, as if that was the end of their conversation.

Sherlock walked in to the room. He sat on the green armchair, staring at the ground. He couldn't bear to think of what he would say to John. That would mean that he believed what was goings to happen, and he couldn't do that to John

Hours past. He sat there, thinking. After all, what was there to do? Nothing really, not when you're stuck there. Think about all there is to come. All there is to be done.

"Mr Holmes, you have 5 minutes before he goes into surgery."

No! Where had the time gone!

"John! John! You could die!" Sherlock screamed, a small glint in his eye from tears. His face was raw, expressing emotion. It never does that. It never lets its guard down.

"At least I get to spend my last few minutes with you, then, Sherlock." His voice was scratchy, as if he was in need of water. So Sherlock didn't get the message, although he never really does get the hint, does he?

Sherlock waited, and John continued. "I now realize, Sherlock, that it wasn't a game of cat and ball. I am no cat. I finally understand Sherlock. I'm not just a 'human' to you, am I? Deep in your subconscious, you know. You always knew, didn't you? That you loved me." Even Sherlock heard the beat of his heart. It was thudding.

Ba-Boom

Ba-Boom

_Ba-Boom. _

John continued. "I know, Sherlock. But it's okay. Because I lo-" He suddenly cut off by the enterance of a nurse.

"John Watson, you need to go to surgery now. Say goodbye to Mr Holmes, please."

"Bye Sherlock. And remember, I know." John then passed into the realm of reverie.

"No, John! Don't leave me! No!" Sherlock screamed, but John would never hearthese words.

_**Four Days Later**_

He stood, alone, for the first time in 2 years. He felt the single tear drop down his face. Because this just wasn't enough for John. Just a small plaque, just a small inscription, just a small service. Just. He was alone now though, and the moment seized for him to say a sort of last goodbye. Because that's what people do, don't they?

"John. John. I'm glad you knew. Because now I get to finish what you never got to say. I love you. That's what you were trying to say, but you never got the chance to, did you? You never got to say it. But I do so, I guess, here it is, John."

He paused looking at the engraving.

"I love you, John."

He looked at the engraving for the last time before grief consumed him.

_Here lies John Watson. A doctor, a detective, a soldier, a brother and a friend. He knew._

_AN: 2,318 words. Wow. That's a whole lot. Dedication to Mrs. Rune for laughing about the nurse coming in. I hope you all liked it._

_Disclamer: I do not own Sherlock, John, Sally, Molly nor 221B Baker Street. I do own Dr. Senza. He's mine. And this story. That's mine. All 2,318 words._

_And Remember to review!_


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